Broken Lives
by pixelherodev
Summary: When a teenager falls out of the sky next to Lung, he doesn't plot how to fix everything in Earth Bet. He has a panic attack and collapses. All he can do is try to figure out a way to navigate these Broken Lives. A more realistic take on a SI.
1. Open Your Eyes

A/N: First off, the title is a tribute to the song by Our Last Night, from their new album Selective Hearing. I highly recommend their songs. Secondly, I have no idea where this is going. In this case, that is quite deliberate. This is a self insert, but one taken seriously. Instead of asking, "what would happen in situation X?" I'm putting myself in the situation and typing what my actual reactions would be. Hence, panic attack after realizing that I'm not dead. Also, knowingly and deliberately pissing off Lung. That's exactly the kind of stupid thing I would do. Warning: some mentions of depression throughout, but nowhere _near_ as much as I had in the first draft. Without further ado, I present to you, **Broken Lives**.

 _Chapter 1:_ **Open Your Eyes**

When a computer tower fell off a shell and crushed me to death, I figured that was the end. I didn't mind all that much; I'd stopped truly caring about my life after approximately 8 years of life. I _did_ feel a little bad for the people I was leaving behind – well, one of the people anyways - but most of my emotional attachments had been willfully shattered. I'd turned primarily to computers as a form of escape from reality, so the little part of me that was upset to be leaving so soon was largely overpowered by the sheer irony of my death – the one thing I positively valued in my life was ultimately removed my from it. Hopefully I didn't traumatize anyone with my morbid laughter.

Naturally, waking back up what felt like immediately after was disorienting, enough so that I almost immediately started puking. On the concrete which was apparently there now.

Okay, what the _fuck_ just happened? I just fucking _died_ , and while I'm far from a religious person (I'm largely an apatheist, to be quite honest), I'd done some extensive studies on various mythologies as a pre-teen, and I've _never_ heard of an afterlife like this. Clearly, I still exist, but I also just died, so while I've never _heard_ of an afterlife like this, the existence of an afterlife completely different from every single one humans believe in wouldn't exactly surprise me. Now it's just a matter of figuring out if this is more of a "heaven" or a "hell."

I slowly pushed myself to my feet, absently noting that I felt a bit thinner and slightly stronger than I did five minutes ago. Not _really_ strong, but enough so to be noticeable. Once I felt that I wasn't about to fall down, I swiveled my head around, taking in the surroundings.

The first thing that stuck out was what looked like a box - okay, this is odd. That is _definitely_ a dumpster. I was beginning to get a sinking feeling in my chest. No afterlife would have a dumpster. There would be no purpose. That basically just leaves reincarnation. That's not too bad, right? I can deal. I can totally deal with that. Not a big deal. I'll be fi

 _panic panic panic_

"I'll be fine," which is why I immediately fell to my knees and began hyperventilating. _Crap_. I haven't had a panic attack this bad in _years_. Okay, breath in, breath out. No different from those asthma attacks I gave myself after knowingly forcing myself past reasonable limits without my inhaler back in junior high. No biggie.

A gruff, masculine, voice startled me. "Who the fuck are you?" I didn't recognize the accent, but I'm not in Kansas anymore, and it'd be a huge coincidence if I ended up in exactly the same place on my second Earth that I was in when I left the first one. Probably. Maybe. I'm not exactly well versed in the whole "where you go when you die" thing.

... which leads to some more nerve-wracking questions, such as "Shit, am I going to have to do this again? If I die here, is that the end?" To be quite honest, I was very thankful that I didn't have time to think about that right now. It probably wouldn't have ended well.

Fortunately, I'd managed to (mostly) recover from my panic attack, so I quickly jumped to my feet and turned to look at the speaker. And promptly paled. As obsessed as I was with Wildbow's Worm, it would've been impossible not to recognize Lung. _Shit_. This is Earth Bet.

 _"It probably wouldn't have ended well," because_ this _is_ so _much_ better _._

Lung raised an eyebrow. "I don't know who put you up to this, but I advise you leave immediately."

In retrospect, maybe I should have kept those thoughts in my head.

"Yes, sir!" I squeaked. "Sorry to bother you Mr Lung sir!"

Rule #19 of not getting the shit beat out of you: if someone is able to squish you with the same amount of effort you put into making breakfast, _don't anger them. Be respectful._ Curse them out _later_ when they can't hear you and there's no risk of it getting back to them.

I immediately moved to leave, before realizing I had a _slight_ problem.

"Uh, quick question, Mr Lung: where exactly am I? Also, what year is it?"

Naturally, that was when I realized I had a _bigger_ problem. _Fuck, I don't remember when canon starts! Lung is here and_ _isn't immediately trying to kill me_ _, so this is probably pre-canon – or, knowing my luck, this is exactly at the start of canon. Wait, what do I do now? Where do I go? I don't have any powers. I don't have any skills that are applicable in a universe with Tinkers. Shit. I have no purpose, no way to make a living, no home, no money… I'm totally fucked. Crap._

Before I could worry myself any further, Lung decided to humor me. Sort of. "You are in ABB territory. It is one year before Lung year."

… _what_? I thought to myself. Apparently, my confusion showed on my face, because Lung proceeded to explain, even if I only barely heard what he was saying.

 _What the hell is my life? I died and woke up on Earth Bet, and now Lung is giving me a lecture about the Chinese calendar?!_

I'm pretty sure that's the moment when I fainted. In front of Lung. Fuck my life.

As I lost consciousness, only one thought ran through my head: "Remember we all go down in flames, we fail to live up to invisible names, without a heart and stuck in our minds, we can't forget that we all live broken lives."

...okay, only the last line actually went through my head at that point, but it just doesn't have the same impact without the rest of the outro; the beginning is especially fitting given the whole "Lung" situation.

For the record, because I apparently need to mention this on a file no one else should ever see (fucking Tinkers, this is totally unsafe isn't it), I'm typing this about a week or two after my arrival on Bet, on a lightweight laptop. I have encrypted this file using a cipher based off of AES-512, and the key has approximately 200 bits of entropy so even the presence of organic supercomputers should _in theory_ not matter, but given the fact that Tinkers exist, there's probably no real way to prevent someone from accessing this. Actually, that XKCD comic is perfectly accurate right now: they don't need to break the security, they can literally pull it from my mind. Hell, Lisa could probably break it in seconds.

… actually, one last idea. I'm going to hide the encrypted data inside of my music collection! I knew all that time I spent on steganography in middle school would pay off!

...I'm not insane, Lisa! Just thought I'd make sure you knew that! Also, please don't look too deeply here. Some things I'm going to deliberately leave out because they could quite literally lead to the end of the world. Don't try to push it please.

Anyway, I need to figure out my plans for the approximately two years I have before I die, so this ends my first log.

\- Urg Urk

 **A/N: that signature is a nod to With This Ring, a Young Justice SI where the Orange Lantern SI is unable to say his name. That's not the case here, but I thought it'd be a nice reference. Also, I should actually be able to update this regularly, seeing as this first chapter took less than an hour start to finish. Rather small updates, but I _might_ be able to get out 1000 words a day, if not more. Also, if anything is too technical (e.g. the mention of steganography, or AES-512), let me know and I'll a quick explanation.**

 **\- pixelherodev**

 **Oh yeah, one last thing: I am going to deliberately leave certain things out, as mentioned in then second to last paragraph. My SI is writing it under the assumption that the supposedly impenetrable encryption is meaningless, which is actually not an unreasonable thought.**


	2. And It'll Make It Easier

**Quick A/N: "I" mentioned at the end of Chapter 1 (which has since been named Open Your Eyes) that "I" would leave out details from which a thinker could figure out the whole "End of the world" thing and start if off sooner. "My" leaving in the fact that "I'm" not from Earth Bet and outright mentioning Worm wasn't an accident. It never occurs to "me" that "my" reactions to being on Earth Bet and expecting to die very quickly are a huge hint to Thinkers that something really, really Bad is going to happen. This "me" never really thought about it, so while** _ **I**_ **realize how big of a hint it is, that's specifically because I dedicated time to thinking about it. "I" can't afford to.**

… **that was longer than intended. Sorry. Have a chapter to make up for it :P**

 **Chapter 2: And It'll Make It Easier**

 **Day 1 of Second Earth**

 **Brockton Bay, Massachusetts**

It turns out that movies lied to me. A horrifying thought, I know. Apparently, it _is_ possible to faint and wake up mere minutes later. It's even _easier_ to do so when there's a giant fire-breathing dragon right next to you being giant and, well, breathing fire. In unrelated news, waking up next to a fire-breathing rage monster is not good for your stress levels.

So, it turns out that I was wrong; this isn't before canon. This is day 1, and I've _already_ messed up canon. Within five minutes. After being awoken by a literal rage monster trying to kill the protagonist of fucking _reality_ , my thoughts immediately started going something like this: _Fuck fuck fuckity fuck I'm going to die that's a dragon oh shit is that Skitter this is fucking awesome! Wait that's fire duck ow I think that singed my hair this is not awesome not awesome not awesome!_

Yeah, okay. So standing still probably wasn't my best move, which is why I immediately ran and hid behind the dumpster. I don't make the best decisions first thing in the morning, and I'd just woken up after fainting so that counts. _I'm not involved I'm not involved I'm not involved_ I repeated in my head, hoping that both of the capes saw it that way. Fortunately, neither of the two absurdly powerful super – sorry, _para_ humans was attacking me. Unfortunately, that wasn't likely to remain the case for very long.

"I'm not going to let you hurt him!" (redacted) no, _Skitter_ yelled. Okay, so I _am_ involved. Damn it. My hopes that I had a super awesome Thinker power that could change reality with a thought have been crushed.

(Post-eventum note to self: Don't use real names! Fuck the encryption. This isn't secure and I'm not going to put anyone, hero or otherwise, in danger like that. Also, post-eventum is totally legitimate Latin. Shut up, self.)

I should _probably_ be less ecstatic to be in this situation than I honestly am. _Skitter_ is attacking god damned _Lung_ to save me! Yay! _Also, I should_ probably _clear up this misunderstanding before Lung gets his crotch rotted off. Or, more importantly, before I get my head burned off. I'm quite attached to it and –_

"You!" Lung snarled at the dumpster, a statement that would have been more amusing if I wasn't hiding behind it. His accent was much easier to ignore now that he was _breathing fire! This is so fucking cool,_ I enthused internally. "I can ignore a small _prank_ ," he sneered, "but setting me up for a hero to take me down? I'll kill him, and then I'll kill you!"

"It's not a set up! And he's not attacking me!" I yelled – or, if I'm being quite honest, squeaked so quietly I'd be surprised if a mouse could hear me. Happily, Lung has super hearing. Unhappily, that doesn't make him an idiot, which is why he snorted me and moved to attack Skitter again.

I hastily repeated my yell, forcing myself to ignore my nerves and actually get the message across. This time, Skitter heard me, which was a relief, because her muttered "oops" convinced Lung that I was serious. Yay! Now to just – _wait a second, if Lung is here and Skitter is here, shouldn't his enforcers be here too for the whole "kill the children" bit?_ ... _yeah, I'm not asking him that. That would be a monumentally bad idea. Besides, it's not like I fully remember canon anyways. Maybe the enforcers were supposed to meet up with him later?_

 _Crap, I just derailed canon!_ I quickly realized, immediately forming a plan to push the canon train back on tracks and get it ready to crash into a mountain later – yeah, I just murdered that metaphor. It will be mourned for approximately three seconds.

...maybe I shouldn't be so sarcastic in my own journal. This probably isn't healthy. Meh. I'm not writing this for health (though technically I'm not writing this at all, I'm typing it), I'm writing this to make sure that – actually, I'm just writing this because I'm bored, and getting down my thoughts about being in _fucking Earth Bet_ will probably provide a laugh or two later. After that bit of introspection, we now return to our scheduled entry.

 _Okay, time to fix canon. I can do this. What do I need to do? I_ can't _get Skitter and Lung to fight. I would most assuredly die, especially after what just happened. That's not really important anyways. Probably. Step 1: get Skitter to join the Undersiders. Wait, that's more than one step. Meh. So, I need Armsmaster to be a dick. That part is easy. Probably. How do I get them to meet? And how do I get Tattletale to see that Skitter needs help? Well, given that this is day 1, Skitter probably_

Unfortunately, this is real life. My internal monologuing was interrupted by Skitter.

"Uh, s – sorry, L – Lung!" Skitter said quietly, turning to leave. "I thought," she sighed, "well, it doesn't matter." She started to walk away. _Crap she's leaving shit what do I do?! Oh wait I know!_

"Skitter! Err, wait, Bug Girl!" I yelled quickly.

"What do you want?" she asked downtrodden. _In her perspective, she just screwed up as a hero,_ I thought to myself, worried. _What she felt was the one way she could do good(and do it well, for that matter), and I probably just helped ruin it for her. Aw, crap_. _Okay, self, we can fix this, we can totally fix this -_

"How would you like to hang out a bit tomorrow?"

… _no, mouth, that is not fixing this! Why? Just, why would you even do that? What have I ever done to you? Well, there_ was _that time with the garlic – that's not important right now! How do I f -_

"W – what?" She asked, confused.

 _Yeah, I'm fucked. Oops. There is literally no way that this can end well for me._

 **A/N: This chapter was really short, sorry. I'll try to write a much _much_ longer one tomorrow, but this is about as much as I can write now. I need sleep! Also, I actually know where I'm going from here a bit, so this isn't too bad.**

 **Also, the title of this chapter is fully intended to be ironic. As both this and the title for Chapter 1 are based on the lyrics of Our Last Night's song Broken Lives, it expands to, "Open your eyes and it'll make it easier," and things are definitely far harder now for the SI than they were before he died.**

… **not a sentence I ever expected to think :D**

 **Oh yeah, and I also added ~100 words to the previous chapter, but nothing major was changed, so you probably shouldn't bother re-reading it. I just tweaked a few things here and there.**

 **For the purposes of this fic, Brockton Bay is in Massachusetts. The geography of Earth Bet is very much different from our own, and there's no official statement on where it is. Rather than stick with "north of Boston" the way Wildbow does, I decided to have it be in the northern parts of Massachusetts.**

 **Also, just to clarify, this being an SI does not mean that this is how I think I would act in this situation. It's how a character modeled after my more prominent character traits would act.**

 **A/N: The following Omake is, seeing as how I die in it, _not_ canon. **

**Short omake by Gwen:**

"You!" he snarled in my direction. I wasn't paying attention to his accent anymore; I was too busy geeking out over the fact that he was _breathing fire. This is so fucking cool!_ I enthused internally, before immediately catching fire and dying.


	3. To Fight Through The Dark Times

**Chapter 3: To Fight Through the Dark Times**

Before I could damn myself any further into the 12th circle of Hell (the one for people who have pissed off Khepri – even the rulers of Hell aren't stupid enough to get on Khepri's bad side), Lung intervened. "I'd heard that American teenagers made a habit of courting everyone in sight, but I didn't think it was true." Lung rumbled, thankfully now human.

I was saved from having to answer that disturbing question by a giant beast from Hell jumping onto the no-longer-a-giant-rage-beast Lung and biting down hard. _So that's why they're called hell-hounds!_ I realized in a simply staggering flash of insight, before wincing in sympathy. _Ouch, what is it with Lung and having his crotch attacked by animals?_

Before Lung decided that I was also associated with the Undersiders and that we were all in a weird relationship or something, I quickly squeaked, "We're not with them either!" and cowered behind my dumpster. _You are my dumpster and I shall call you my dumpster_ , I thought to myself in a dramatic tone of voice. Not my brightest moment, I'll admit.

About ten seconds of loud noises and I was about to risk a peek around the dumpster when everything suddenly turned to darkness. "Whelp, I'm fucked," I muttered. "I'm probably about to die, and on the off chance I -" I was interrupted in my distress by a group of bugs landing on my arms. "Seriously?" I exclaimed, annoyed. "What is it with capes and not letting me wallow in depression?"

Naturally, there was no response; the only one who could have heard me was Grue, and he was probably too busy not dying and also not caring to say anything. The bugs started – _are bugs pulling me right now?_ I wondered incredulously, before remembering, "Oh, right. Skitter. Well, at least it wasn't Lung."

I followed the insistent bugs blindly, and I only tripped once. Totally didn't fall on my ass six times in 20 seconds. There is absolutely zero reason to believe otherwise.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, I was out of the extreme darkness, still contemplating its existence. _Wait, so it blocks all electromagnetic activity? Then how does Grue see through it? Is it a gas? Is it an area of altered physics? God damn it, I hate Earth Bet. Physics made so much more sense before I died._

I quickly looked around. _Okay, so there's a giant mass of darkness over there, a narrow alleyway this way, an – "_ Skitter!" I yelped nervously. "Don't do that!"

"Skitter?" she asked, curious. "W – why are you calling me that?"

 _Crap, right, not her name. … at least I can BS my way out of_ this _one easily._

"I don't know," I said with a shrug, "I guess it just sort of fits?"

Realizing that there was still a mass of darkness where _something_ was happening behind me, I quickly turned around to face it.

"So…" I began, "should we just wait for them to finish?"

She considered it. "Maybe we should call the Protectorate? Let them know that some villains are fighting?"

 _Shit. The Protectorate. … she has a point, but how do I explain my existence to them? If Cauldron finds out about – wait, who am I kidding, why would they care? It's not like I can do anything, and my information is completely unreliable. Wait. My information is unreliable. Damn it. I should have realized that sooner!_

"Uh, Mr. Hobo?" Skitter asked.

"I'm not a hobo," I snapped, annoyed, causing her to shrink back. "Shit, I'm sorry, but it's been a very stressful day, you know? First, a bunch of shelves fall on me and I die and then I wake up and I'm on _god damned Earth Bet!"_ By the end, I was yelling. Clearly, I was more stressed than I'd realized.

Skitter did what any sane person would do when confronted with a crazy person and backed away.

 _In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have just blurted that out._

"… I'm not crazy," I muttered.

 _No no no that's not convincing that's the opposite of convincing!_ I thought, panicked.

"Think of it this way," I said, trying to come up with an explanation that would be plausible and not get me locked up "for my own good." The government was good at doing that even in a world in which crazy people _couldn't_ try to force reality to accept their delusions. This is Earth Bet, so I _really_ need to be careful. "Basically, someone made a portal like Dr. Haywire's, except bigger, and then inexplicably decided to kidnap me when I was dying. I don't know who, or why, I just know that one minute I'm walking through a storage room and the next I'm in hell." _That's not too bad, right?_

Realizing that that last part was a bit insulting – this is her world, after all – I hastened to add, "No offense or anything, but Earth Bet is a shit hole, and we know that even on my Earth."

"Why should I believe you?" she demanded.

After a quick glance to make sure the darkness was still there and we didn't have to deal with a villain immediately – it was, and we didn't – I quickly made a decision.

"I'll go see if I can find a pay phone and call the Protectorate, we can discuss this later if you want."

"What, you mean like tomorrow?" she asked sarcastically. "What was up with that, anyways?"

"Well," I said, the nervous meter having gone up to a 12, "you're kind of absurdly powerful and I was sorta hoping you were, you know, looking for a minion."

 _What?_ I snapped at myself mentally.

"What?" she snapped verbally. "I'm not a villain!"

"I know!" I said quickly, "but, well, heroescanhaveminionstoo?"

She seemed to be less annoyed and more – is she amused? That's good, right?

"None that I've ever heard of," she said, "and what makes you say that I'm absurdly powerful?"

"Well, you're helping fight Lung right now, right?"

"Yeah?"

"While you're talking to me?"

"Yeah, so?"

"You're helping a fight against freaking _Lung_ and you aren't even paying any attention to it!" I pointed out loudly.

"You're fighting Lung?" a gruff, masculine voice interrupted. _Wait, do all of the capes sound like that? I mean, he doesn't have the accent, but still…_

Armsmaster showed up while I was trying to explain to Skitter how valuable she is. Oops. In retrospect, I should have been just a _little_ bit quieter.

Anyway, apparently being a minion is actual _work_. End log 3.

 **A/N: not quite as long as I intended, but the titles just fit _perfectly_ like this, and it's a lot easier to maintain interest at this slower pace. Tomorrow: chapter four, Hold The Line. I've made another edit to chapter 2, adding around a hundred words, but again you don't really need to read it if you don't want to. Also, yes, that last line was there on purpose. I'm evil.**


	4. Hold The Light

**Chapter 4: Hold The Light**

 **A/N: you may have noticed that the title of this chapter has changed. Apparently, I had that lyric wrong. [SHAME]! Also, sorry about the delay – Internet at home is down as we switch providers, which delayed my fact checking and thus writing speed and delayed me another day in posting this. Should be fixed this Friday, but just in case I'm changing the posting day to Mondays instead of Sundays.**

Begin Log 4

Naturally, that was the moment that the reality of the situation really set in. Fortunately, before I could yell, "You're real!" at Armsmaster, which, given my luck, would lead to an inexplicable chain of events ending in me dying after tripping over a pancake of all things, Skitter spoke up.

"Yeah," she said absently.

"Hero, then?" _That's an odd assumption to make,_ I thought. _Doesn't the Empire fight Lung on a regular basis? Wait no, if that was the case they'd probably be dead by The Beginning._

While Armsmaster was questioning Skitter, I was getting myself under control – you know, making sure I didn't do anything stupid like, say, implicating myself, or making anyone think I was interesting, or _pissing off freaking Lung!_

 _Don't say anything_ , I told myself. _Don't get involved. Stop with the derailing. Canon will prevail! Well, almost definitely not, but at least this isn't a SI, so I don't have to worry about anyone knowing how badly I inevitably screw things up._

My internal existential musings were interrupted by Skitter raising her voice.

"Not intentionally!" she shouted. She took a breath, and returned her voice to normal volumes. "I was more than halfway done putting the costume together when I realized it was already looking more edgy than I'd intended, and I couldn't do anything about it by then."

 _I guess some things are the same in every universe_ , I thought with a chuckle. _At least I'm not responsible for changing_ that.

Which, based on the way Skitter was looking at me now, was most definitely audible.

"What?" she asked, offended. "Is it really that hard to believe?"

"No, it's just – basically, I – I mean nostalgia." _Wow, self. A real orator, you are._

She stared at me. "What?" she asked, confused.

"You've been with other heroes that looked like villains?" Armsmaster asked, intrigued.

I face palmed. "Please be careful with how you phrase stuff. PHO is bad enough already."

Superheroes staring at me was apparently becoming a regular thing now. That would have been kind of flattering except for the fact that I am very squishy, and I'd rather not find out exactly how good I taste with and/or as ketchup.

"You're an established hero then?" he asked me.

I quickly went over what I'd said and my eyes widened. _Oops._ "No no no! Nope nope nope! I just meant that PHO is bad enough to the capes – which, yeah, I'm not. I am most definitely _n_ _ot_ a cape, and hopefully that never changes."

"Why?" Skitter asked, surprised.

"Can you explain trigger events to her, Armsmaster?" I asked in a very obviously begging voice. "As a cape, you're more qualified than I am to explain this."

His lips upturned slightly. "You're planning on sneaking away while I give him basic cape information, aren't you?" he asked. I almost panicked before I realized that he was more amused than offended.

"Okay, first off, that's really offensive. That is the _second_ time in the past – what, five minutes? That is the second time in the last five minutes that someone has made the _very_ mistaken assumption that Skitter is a guy. Is that, like, a normal thing around here? Or is it because she isn't as disgustingly obvious about her femininity as the old superheroine? That's a word, right? Is it because she isn't as disgustingly obvious about her femininity as the old superheroine comics?"

"That's a yes, right?" Armsmaster asked.

"Not that the minion is wrong," Skitter said, annoyed (not at me, thankfully), "but I'd say so," Skitter agreed.

"I thought you were heroes?" Armsmaster asked us. "What, heroes can have underlings now?"

"We are!" Skitter replied. "Heroes can have minions – err, underlings – too!"

"Yeah," I said, starting to get suspicious, "as the Protectorate ENE's _leader_ , I'd think you would know that."

"Did we just get pranked by Armsmaster _?_ " Skitter asked incredulously.

"Hardly a prank," Armsmaster retorted. "This was merely twisting your words a bit."

"Shouldn't you be helping to fight Lung?" I said with a totally-not-exaggerated pout.

He snorted. "I'm not an idiot."

 _Drats_ , I thought to myself. _There goes_ that _plan of escape_.

"What?" I exclaimed. "Do you mean to tell me that the leader of the local government-sponsored hero team is intelligent? I never would have guessed!"

"Flattery won't work either," Armsmaster said.

"Plus," Skitter inserted, "you're not very good at it."

"Damn it. Seriously though, that's freaking _Lung_. Isn't it your _job_ as the leader of the local government-sponsored hero team to fight him?"

"Inside of a different villain's darkness, where I'll hinder more than help the efforts to fight him? I'd rather not get fired from that "leader of the local government-sponsored hero team" position, thanks." He somehow managed to maintain a deadpan tone throughout the whole statement.

Thinking quickly, I went with the first idea to pop into my head. "Look, a convenient distraction!" I yelled, pointing behind him.

 _Also, how is he able to keep that deadpan constantly?_ I wondered. _Does he practice it? Does he s –_

Ignoring me completely now, and interrupting my internal intellectual inquisition on the integrity of his deadpan, Armsmaster asked, "You're a new face, Skitter was it?"

"I haven't even come up with a name yet," she confirmed, totally ignoring the fact that I'd been calling her Skitter and Armsmaster had literally just used that name. "You know how hard it is to come up with a bug-themed name that doesn't make me sound like a supervillain or a complete dork?"

He chuckled, and it sounded warm, very normal, "I wouldn't know. I got into the game early enough that I didn't have to worry about missing out on all of the good names. I take it your, uh, underling is the one who came up with Skitter, then?"

"Yeah," she agreed, "and I'm still not sure why. I doubt I'm going to keep it."

"You can't ruin my memes!" I exclaimed, distraught. "I already have several dozen prepared that _need_ that name!"

Armsmaster chuckled again, but before he could say anything, a new voice interjected.

"Did somebody order a raging dragon to go?" Regent asked.

We turned around to see the Undersiders approaching, with one of Bitch's dogs holding Lung in its mouth. _That's disgusting_ , I thought with a shudder.

"Depends," I answered before Armsmaster could. "What regents were used to season him?"

There was a collective groan.

"Don't do that again, please," Skitter asked me in a tone that clearly said, "if you ever do that again, you're fired."

"Renounce my sacred duty as the comic relief? I could never do such a thing, boss!" I said mock-outraged, my own tone saying, "I'm too sarcastic to be fired!"

Of course, growing up as I did, ignoring angry teenagers was practically second nature. (Yes, self, I know that I am, technically speaking, a teenager. The point still remains. …and now I'm arguing with myself. Inside of my own journal. And I'm personifying people's _voices_. I should probably see a therapist about this. Then again, in _this_ economy? This is Brockton Bay. I probably can't afford one, and even if I could, the only therapists have probably been murdered or traumatized to the point of needing therapists of their own by now.)

She sighed, but I swear her lips twitched. Even if she was, technically speaking, wearing a mask, and there was no possible way for me to know that. See, that's an important skill for us comic reliefs – being able to read moods and know when humor is needed. I'm told I'm very good at that.

"Oh, great," Grue moaned. "Now there's two of them!"

 _Unfortunately,_ I thought morosely, _knowing a joke is needed and knowing a good joke are two very different things._

Wait nope, that's not what happened. I totally made that joke as bad as it was on purpose in order to break the ice. Totally. I'm not acting suspicious, _you're_ acting suspicious! What's a pig?

Ah, references. :D Ah, references to things that don't exist on this Earth. _Cries._

"Hey!" Regent exclaimed. "I'll have you know there's a lot more to me than bad puns!"

"Really?" I questioned.

"Nope."

Grue sighed. "Bitch, drop Lung. Let's go before Regent actually manages to start a fight with the heroes."

"You're trying to antagonize us? My wounded heart!" I cried, grasping the center of my stomach. "Wait nope, that's my digestive tract. I guess I should be more careful of what I eat."

Ignoring me (thankfully), Bitch ordered her hell-hound to drop Lung.

"You would get along well with Clockblocker," Armsmaster observed.

"You're trying to get me in the Wards? Really? I'm not even a cape!" I exclaimed, annoyed.

"Nope," Tattletale said, inserting herself into the conversation with her trademarked smirk. Wait, is her smirk actually trademarked? TODO: Check if you can legally trademark a smirk in Earth Bet's USA. If so, do so out of spite for the fact that you can. "He just realizes that Clockblocker could use someone who appreciates his brand of humor."

"Wait, really?"

"Yes," Armsmaster confirmed. "Social isolation can lead to reduced efficiency in the field."

He nodded at Tattletale politely. "Thank you for confirming your Thinker rating."

"Yes, I'm sure the Protectorate is just going to _love_ the fact that there is a mind-reading villainous teenager," I said sarcastically.

Maybe I was imagining it, but I could have _sworn_ that Tattletale was staring at me.

"What the _hell_?" she muttered.

Yep. Definitely staring at me.

"You know, if we weren't on opposite sides of the whole cops and robbers thing I might find your staring flattering," I said offhandedly.

"You know, if I didn't know you did that on purpose, I might have found that disconcerting."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"Don't be; I'm used to it."

"Tattletale, we're leaving," Grue pointed out from the end of the alley.

"No, you're not," Armsmaster said with a frown.

"Huh?" I asked, confused.

"As you pointed out earlier, it is my job to fight villains. I can't just let them go."

"They just gave you Lung!"

"A compelling argument. There's just one problem with that."

"What?"

Tattletale interrupted, "he works for the government," while the giant hellhounds attacked Armsmaster and I totally didn't run for cover behind my dumpster again.

 **A/N** : **Thanks for sticking with me through that short hiatus (which is a term I'm willing to use now that I've continued and it won't cause people to assume this is abandoned :p), and I hope you enjoy!**

 **There were some scenes that I found amusing that I removed or turned into omakes because they didn't really fit very well as part of the actual story. Omakes have been removed from this chapter and will be removed from the other chapters soon as well, they'll be getting their own chapter once a month instead of bloating up the actual story.**

 **Why didn't anyone point out my glaring mistake? _SI reveals he knows Skitter goes to Winslow and neither hero comments on that! That_ particular bug has received a patch.**

 **Puns, criticism, and limericks are all welcome, and honestly desired. Seriously people, where are my limericks? I put my sweat and blood into this story! Can't I get at least one limerick in return, please? I'm a fanfic author, don't you know I need limericks to survive? Joking aside, I'm _floored_ by the support I've received for this. _Huge_ thanks, I really appreciate it!**

 **Side note to any and all Worm fans (which I assume is all of you who are reading this): I suggest that you check out World Domination in Retrospect. I've only read a very small amount but it's very hilarious so far and the link can be found on the Worm page under "Stuff by Readers".**

 **Thanks again for your patience, and I'll try to make sure that that "reality" thing doesn't force me to take another break from this!**

 **Sorry for the overlong A/N, I'll strive to keep them shorter in the future.**


	5. and Shine Through The Dark Times

**Chapter Five – [And It'll Make It Easier] To Shine Through The Dark Times**

 **Praise the Cookie!**

 **A/N** **from part 1** **: sorry to split this into parts again. I'll try to get the rest out on Sunday. ~** **7** **50 out of the ~1** **3** **00 words in here were written** _ **today**_ **, in the** **past** _ **40 minutes**_ **. I've been really busy** **(in real life, but also in the last 40 minutes)**

 **Log Five**

Armsmaster leaped towards Tattletale, swinging his halberd.

From behind the safety of my dumpster, I felt perfectly safe yelling, "Really? Attacking a teenage girl? How pathetic!" Of course, I'm not suicidal, so I didn't actually insult the equivalent of a super-cop. I simply thought it loudly, which while not as enjoyable was far more risk-free.

"You know," Skitter said from behind me, "I'm not really sure you're cut out to be a minion."

"Hey! I'll have you know that I have the running away screaming part down perfectly!"

As the darkness started spreading towards us, I figured a practical demonstration was necessary.

"Eeeeeeeek!" I screamed, running down another side street, thankfully not

"Yeah, but that's the easy part," she said, playing along. "What about the screaming 'Curses!' whenever you fail?"

"I'll have you know I have a 100% success rate at minioning! Minionizing? Minionizing!"

"Which would be impressive," she drawled, "if those numbers actually had any meaning."

"So how's the fight going?" I asked. "Seeing as I can't, well, see (pun not intended) -"

"Neither can I," she interrupted.

"Wait, what?" I asked, confused. "You rescued me earlier, didn't you? Wait, how _did_ you do that?"

"Touch," she admitted. "I just had bugs scatter in basically every direction."

"Well, thanks for that," I said gratefully. "It would kind of suck to die in my first five minutes on this world."

"Yeah, you mentioned that earlier. I still don't know why I should believe you."

"Because you have nothing to lose and a decent amount to gain?"

"Yes, because I _totally_ need a minion. I can't think of a single reason why I shouldn't hire a minion."

"Well, for starters, I know how the world is going to end."

"You're really not trying to keep a low profile, are you?"

She had a point – I really wasn't sticking to my original plan of "shut up and say nothing" _at all_. Unfortunately, I'd realized something after seeing Tattletale – _I don't have a choice_. She's not the only Thinker around by a long shot, which means I have a couple of major choices.

Choice 1: maintain silence, and fucking _pray_ that nobody figures out what I know.

Choice 2: off myself. No seriously, I honestly considered this. There's one extremely compelling reason to take this option, no matter how depressing it might be: _I don't know if The End will affect my home_. As sad as it is, and as guilty as I might feel for admitting this, if I had a guarantee that ETGA wouldn't affect my Earth, I'd probably take this option.

Unfortunately, nothing is certain. The ETGA might affect my Earth regardless of my interference, and there are people there I care about still. However, if I try, I might be able to minimize casualties.

Which leads to Choice 3: try to fix the world. I don't just mean trying to prevent ETGA in whatever manner is possible. I mean fixing as much as I fucking can. I don't care if this is cliché or not (even if I'm still sure I'm not an SI), I want to fix as much as I can. Canary, S9, whatever I can do, I want to.

Of course, I'm not stupid. I'm not going to do _too_ much. That would get too much attention.

… fuck, I can't even _think_ that with a straight face. This world is too fucked, and if there's the _slightest_ chance I can do something about it, I have to take it. I'll probably fail, but as a wise Barry once said, "Wait, do you really expect me to remember a quote from a CYOA I played years ago?" Magium doesn't actually exist on Earth Bet, so I can't just play through that most addictive of games again look it up.

The point is, I might not have the ability to change all that much here, but I can't just leave this world to – to _die!_

You might be thinking, _Wow, you are a_ really _egotistical bastard, writing about how good of a person you are in your own fucking journal_. Well, Lisa, you're completely right. Also, _stay out of my fucking journal!_ Seriously, I saw what you did to log 1! Not funny! I mean, really?

Back on topic, I went with choice two, and made sure to piss off every cape I encountered in order to get myself killed. I died. That's how I'm writing this right now.

Sarcasm aside, I obviously went with choice three. Choice two wasn't a real choice – all it really accomplished was removing any minuscule ability I might have had to protect my family. Sure, my presence here might harm them, but it also might save them. Removing my presence here is the same gamble, except without me actually doing anything. At least this way I have a _chance_ , however infinitesimally small it might be.

Oh yeah – when I say family, I mostly mean siblings. I'm still a teen. Which, obviously, doesn't automatically disqualify me from having children, but I'm proud to say there is a 0% chance of that. Of me having kids, I mean. Not of me being disqua – wait, you're a journal. I don't have to explain myself to you, now do I? I'm bad at journaling.

Also, in tretospect

I snapped out of my internal thoughts to realize that Skitter was still staring at me.

The following totally didn't happen, and if anyone tells you otherwise they're lying to you.

I didn't wave a hand in front of Skitter's face to see if she was actually paying any attention.

"Ouch!" I didn't yelp as a bee didn't sting me. I'd _like_ to say I didn't say a _simple_ curse like, say, "Son of a _bitch_ ," but nope. See, this one time, I Googled "latin exorcisms" and found this really fun page by a Latin major that featured the translations for such _amazing_ phrases as "may your family be killed by barbarians", "fuck off, you pile of shit! When did the assholes make you their king?", and "Stab yourself in the genitals with a plastic spoon!"

I totally didn't say any of those phrases either. Which is actually technically true, because I said the Latin for them.

… fuck hypotheticals. You know what I mean. Or rather, you _don't_ know what I mean regardless because you're an unthinking arrangement of metals and semiconductors that harness the flow of a specific type of fermion to do extremely simple stuff extremely fast.

Which is a complicated way of saying that you use electricity to do stuff, but in a world with people like Tattletale, I think it's extremely important I do what I can to not feel like a complete idiot.

 _Yes, I'm just a shining_ beacon _of intelligence_ , I thought sarcastically.

Yeah, it's not working. It was worth a try though.

Anyways, now that we've been over that totally-didn't-happen-even-if-we-all-know-it-did event, let's move on.

"I suggest _not_ doing that," Skitter said dryly.

"What, the cursing?" I asked in an equally even tone (no I didn't sound high-pitched, thank you very much. I was using my perfectly normal voice. Totally.)

"I – you know what I meant!"

"Yeah, yeah. Also, I wasn't kidding about knowing how the world is going to end, but I really shouldn't have brought that up."

"I'm completely shocked by this turn of events. I was completely expecting you to tell me how the world will end."

"How about a compromise?"

"Oh?"

"What if I told you that I could help you save an innocent girl from the Birdcage? Would that be good enough?"

"I – you'd have to elaborate on that."

"Later, sure. For now though, how's the fight going? Surely you've been able to sense that by now?"

"The darkness is gone."

"So the fight is over?"

"I," she hesitated, "I wouldn't go that far."

I walked hesitantly towards where the fighting had been.

"I _really_ wouldn't go that far," Skitter cautioned, following behind me.

I heard a maniacal laugh, along with – _Huh?_ I wondered, confused.

"Armsmaster!" Grue shouted. "Plan Theta 6!"

 _What_.

I moved forwards cautiously. Unfortunately, having lived on a planet that qualifies as "not Earth Bet" for most of my life, I wasn't _nearly_ cautious enough.

I was interrupted in my movements by a scream and extreme pain.

 _Wait_ , I realized, _that's me._ I'm _screaming._

Which, seeing as there was a knife in my leg, made perfect sense. I mean, wouldn't _you_ scream after unexpectedly gaining a nice, shiny blade through your leg? _Wait no, shiny or not, that knife is EVIL! It's stuck in my leg! OW!_

I took a look around and quickly understood the situation (although, to be quite honest, a very, _very_ large part of me wished I didn't).

… " _Who gave Regent knives?_ " I yelled, horror temporarily overpowering the nerve receptors in my leg. "Are you people _insane_?"

Then what I'd heard immediately prior sunk in (as did the nerve receptors. They were all zombie-like, except with PAIN instead of BRAINS).

"Wait a second," I gasped out through the pain. "Does – is – wait. Is this _normal?"_

"Not that I'm aware of," Skitter responded, using me as a human shield. Well, I _am_ the minion, so I that's just part of the job.

… _wait a second!_ I thought, this time without saying it out loud.

"Hey, does this mean I get the job?" I asked.

"You were just _stabbed_ ," she said slowly, "and you think you got the job because of it?"

"What? No, I meant because I'm being used as a human shield."

"And you're focusing on _that_ after being _stabbed_?"

"Yes, because it's so much better to focus on the fact that there's a fucking knife in my leg!" I snapped.

She froze for less than a second, then slowly nodded. "Good point," she conceded.

 _Okay, that's totally unfair_ , I whinged internally. _Emotional suppression as a_ superpower? _Bullshit 12._

"Sorry about Regent!" Grue yelled towards me.

"Don't worry, your leg will be fine!" Tattletale reassured me. I couldn't really tell where either of them was. There were a couple of reasons for this. Firstly, despite my attempt to ignore the fact that there was a knife in my leg, my pain tolerance was below average. I'm not a hemophiliac thankfully (though no offense is meant to any hemophiliacs by this), but something something biology. Long story short, my nerves are a bit – well, a bit more sensitive than normal. Or at least, they _used_ to be.

Long story long, I was once stung by a bee. This wasn't anything special of course; most people would probably have felt a small deal of pain, ignored it, and moved on. I was unable to move on my own for almost three hours, and was prescribed almost a triple dose of a painkiller. So, yeah, calling the knife in my leg "distracting" would be an understatement, and the only reason I could even move (let alone banter) is that my nerves were apparently no longer as sensitive as they were before Earth Bet.

Secondly, and arguably far more importantly, I couldn't really tell where _anything_ in the fight was. Skitter and I had fallen back into the alley we originally escaped into (side note, her powers are such bullshit. I'm running away out of fear and she can follow me while _still_ fighting. Simply bullshit).

"Sorry doesn't help the fucking knife in my leg!"

A stray thought suddenly hit me, and if I wasn't already sitting against the wall of whatever building I was next to, I would have collapsed. _What if – what if the portal or whatever brought me here changed my biology?_ I wondered, suddenly terrified and lost in existential thoughts.

I have a problem. I get caught up in existential worries that most people largely dismiss. "What if a gamma ray burst hits Earth?", "How can anything have purpose on a universal time scale?", and other such fun thoughts were in my brain constantly, though considering I was (and still am) a teenager, that might be normal. Maybe. I doubt it (though maybe that's just arrogance and the hope that I matter?).

Point is – hey wait a second. Is that the first time I mentioned my age? … oh god, I really hope nobody ever reads the beginning of this thinking I'm an _adult_. I mean, asking a teenage girl to hang out is a _lot_ creepier if you're an adult. Then again, if anyone's reading this, I have bigger concerns than them making a false assumptions about me. Plus, that assumption would be fixed sh – shortly thereafter.

Shit, have I put any information in here that could harm Skitter if people read it? I'll have to double check, but I think the worst thing I have in here is mentioning that she's powerful. … which, now that I think about it, could be an actual problem. Damn it. Why does have life have to be so complicated?

Existential horrors and terrified thoughts aside, I wasn't worried that my pain threshold was lowered (Yes, I _know_ that this is one of the existential horrors. Shut up, Tattletale. Stop changing my logs!). That, on its own, was actually quite nice. What concerned me was that the _rest_ of me – and potentially, _me_ – had been altered as well.

… _same old, same old._ Naturally, I immediately started ignoring my existential dread. I'd had _lots_ of practice with that. I used to routinely watch Kurzgesagst's Existential Crisis playlist. Existential dread is basically an old friend at this point. As, evidently, is being overly dramatic. No, seriously. What should have been a sentence or two on existential dread and how I ignored it turned into a _page-long rant!_

Anyways, knife. In leg. Hurt. Not as much as expected. Bothered, because I might not be me. Ignored dread, because nothing I can do about it regardless. There, that was easy.

Moving on, the situation was clearly out of hand. Regent had apparently gone crazy and started throwing knives everywhere (and where he stores more than two dozen knives on his person, I don't know). Worse, this wasn't the first time, and evidently the heroes (or at least, Armsmaster) worked _with_ the Undersiders to keep it secret, to the point of having _numerous Greek-letter_ (or, possibly, NATO alphabet) _encoded plan numbers!_

Seriously, what the actual fuck is going on? I'd almost _prefer_ if this was canon! At least then I'd understand _why_ I was getting injured and/or dying! Here? Lung is apparently more of a sarcastic/cynical middle-aged man than a hardened gang leader, Armsmaster is _way_ different (as evidenced by the fact that he's helping the Undersiders right now), hell I don't even know if Scion is evil here!

Wait, that means not only is none of my information reliable, I have to actively _ignore_ it for the most part! Just when I thought I had a plan! Whelp.

 _That suicide by cape idea is looking better and better_ , I realized, depressed.

"Okay, I have to see what's going on," I told Skitter.

"You just got stabbed in the leg," she deadpanned. "Are you seriously intending to go back there?"

"What? I didn't get stabbed. What are you talking about?"

She sighed, exasperated. "Having a knife thrown into your leg counts as getting stabbed. Is it too late to fire you?"

I'd have blamed my drunken state for the focus on semantics, but I don't drink. … _can I still blame my drunk self?_ , I wondered, not realizing how bad of a usage of the current moment this was. _I mean, technically, lack of sleep does increase levels of various toxins in the blood due to the inability to filter out the brain juice, so I suppose I could make the argument that I am effectively drunk_.

"Yep!" I said happily.

I'm pretty sure she smirked, but there was a mask in the way, so I can't be sure. "Then I order you not to go there."

 _Damn it!_

"Well played," I admitted, grinning.

Fortunately, I had a plan to get around that order! Which, admittedly, wasn't helping me at all. Not the plan – that was helping just fine – but the having of a plan. Plans tend to die horrible, _horrible_ deaths around me.

 _Oh god_ , I thought in horrified remembrance, _not the garlic! Anything but the garlic!_

Less vaguely, I may not have been _entirely_ truthful with how I ended up here in dear old Bet. Yes, shelves fell on me in the storage room at a workplace. However, an observant reader (which, given that this will likely only be read by Thinkers, you probably are) will note that I also mentioned that I was (and still am) a teenager. Additionally, you'll have noted that this little journey started at night.

See, I _was_ , technically speaking, helping out at the workplace. I was not, however, there _officially_. I was friends with the owner of a small computer workshop startup thingummy, and he was having a little problem with one of the employees stealing stuff. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure which _one_ , and couldn't exactly go up to them and ask them.

You've probably already realized this, but just to confirm, yes, it was one of my _brilliant_ plans that ended up with me almost dying. I had a plan to catch the thief which was brilliant in its simplicity. I would trespass after hours without official permission and stick around just long enough to identify the thief, at which point the owner would press charges against the thief but leave me alone. Somehow, don't ask me how, I managed to turn that into a four months long investigation that ended up with me being murdered by the thief, who actually happened to be a _gangster_ who, for reasons I will never know, was ordered to sabotage the store, and tried to crush me under a stack of shelves.

Seriously though, what was up with that? My plan was clearly not as bright as I thought, but why the hell did that guy think _murder_ was a good solution? Also, what idiot thought hiring a _gang_ to do that kind of sabotage could possibly end well? It seems that everything that led to me ending up here was a result of other people being stupid, which is just irritating. I thought that bad things are supposed to happen to me as a result of _my_ stupidity! This is just plain unfair.

Whinging to a journal. This is an all-time low, even for _me_.

Right, the plan. Topics. Those are a thing.

"There being the intense focus on semantics? Or anywhere I'm likely to get a second knife stuck in my body?" I asked. _Take the bait, take the bait_ , I prayed, a slight grin on my face.

"Both," she said warily. _Okay, maybe that grin was too obvious, but it worked it worked it worked! Time for phase two._

I reached down to the knife in my leg, and _pulled_.

"What are you doing?" Skitter asked.

"Pulling the knife out – that way, I only have to worry about getting _one_ knife stuck while I dive for cover!"

I pulled it about an inch out, and then blacked out. The last thing I saw was Skitter palming her face, looking towards the sky, and muttering, "Why me? What di -" and then I was out cold.

End Log Five

 **A/N: This was delayed by real life. Sorry. A huge thanks is owned to the Cult for helping me stay motivated! Also, I'm planning on going through this and**

 **Oh, and as much as it might seem it, this _hasn't_ gone full crackfic. There is an actual explanation for what's happening (yes, even the Regent part). It _has_ , however, shifted to be more focused on humor.**

 **The tampering with Log 1 that the SI says Tattletale did will be revealed later – I'm going to paste the changed sections with the omakes.**

 **I'm aiming for a mix of story (obviously), and journal (… equally obviously). How am I doing? This is actually extremely important for plot reasons that won't be revealed for a long while (and that aren't actually as obvious as you're probably thinking. Seriously, tell me your guesses so I can cackle evilly at how well I managed to hide it. Or cry miserably over how bad I am at being subtle, but I hope it doesn't come to that).**

 **Puns, limericks, and credit card numbers are always welcome. Well, not actually credit card numbers, because that's probably illegal, but puns and limericks would be appreciated (as, of course, would constructive criticism).**

 **To be quite honest, he got stabbed just so I could make the pun/limerick (punerick?) I used to summarize the completed chapter on the Cauldron Discord. However, there _is_ a legitimate explanation which will appear later on in the story. Plus, Regent going crazy was part of the original plan, I just hadn't planned on having the SI actually get stabbed.**

 **One last point before the pun: keep in mind that narrative bias is a thing. The SI saying something and it being true and two _extremely_ different things.**

 **There once was a fucked SI,**

 **who thought he might stay alive,**

 **then reality sunk in**

 **and so did the knife**

 **and now he has no life**


	6. Omakes

_I was originally planning on waiting a bit to post these, but I figured, "Meh, fuck it." So, have some omakes!_

If formatting is off, I blame SpaceBattles. That might seem odd as this message is only on the version – I made some edits on SB and copy+pasted them back into LibreOffice before uploading to , and had to do some tweaks to fix formatting.

Some of the omakes don't make much sense anymore, as they were based on older drafts which have since been eradicated. Not all of them mention this.

 **Omake 1: The Voice**

 **...this makes even less sense now that I've removed the relevant part of chapter 4 :D**

 _Shit. I just pissed off_ Skitter _, didn't I? What are the odds I escape this conversation unscathed?_

No, a voice said in my head, you did not. Mildly irritated, sure, but not pissed off. The odds of escape are approximately 92.3823%.

I immediately dropped to the ground and started crying, startling both the two observing heroes and the triumphant Undersiders.

"No, no, no. This is _not_ happening."

"I'm not _that_ angry," Skitter said, her tone indicating an eye roll.

"Stop helping!" I exclaimed.

Regent smirked. "We get to take down Lung _and_ watch someone having a panic attack? Awesome!"

"Real mature, you frigging sociopath!" I snapped at him, before rushing at Tattletale in the hopes I could get her to shoot me and destroy the voice.

Estimated chances of success: 02.343%. "That's 2.343% more than 0!" I yelled aloud.

Naturally, the 97.657% of failure occurred. Grue stepped in between me and Tattletale, and my shout of "I'm just trying to get her to shoot me!" didn't exactly help.

I can just shut down higher consciousness if you want? The voice offered.

"Yes! Do that!" I shouted.

And then there was nothing.

 **That omake went waaaay darker than intended. Oops. Have a lighter one as an apology. :D**

 **Omake 2: Hahahahahahahahaha - no no no wait, there's more! - ha**

"I am most definitely _not_ a cape, and hopefully that never changes," I said.

Naturally, at that precise moment, I started glowing.

"...you were saying?" Skitter asked while Armsmaster muttered something about needing to fix his lie detector.

 **A bit of an idea I had as to where this omake could go to be even more amusing if I was willing to take on another fic in tandem:**

 **Omake 2.5: The Not-So-Grimdark Voice**

"This has never happened before!" I exclaimed. "I'm seriously not a cape! What's going on?!"

Congratulations! A fundamentally _other_ voice boomed. Based on the heroes' reactions, they heard it too. You've been randomly selected to participate in a sociological experiment. Welcome, contestant, to Sword Art Online!

 _Maybe this won't be so bad?_ I thought to myself hopefully. _Abridged-verse, abridged-verse, abridged-verse_ , I prayed with my fingers crossed.

As my senses transitioned from reality to the death game known as Sword Art Online, I heard a gleeful voice. "- burn this fucker to the ground."

"YES!" I shouted exuberantly, falling to the ground. "My prayers have been answered! Mwahahaha!"

 **aaand I'm just going to stop this here before it actually _does_ become its own fic :)**

 **Omake 3: Classic SI behavior**

 **This was removed from the actual story for various reasons.**

 _This takes place immediately after Armsmaster's surprisingly effective attempt at easing the tension. ... wait, I forgot to explain his motives there, oops. It'll show up eventually. Probably._

I sighed dramatically. "It's always the quiet ones."

Skitter snorted. "You have a flair for drama. Have you considered signing up for the drama club? I'm sure they would _love_ you."

"Not all at once, I hope," I said with a suggestive wink, before realizing what I'd just said and done. "Pretend I never said that," I immediately added, blushing. "I still haven't fully recovered from whatever sent me here, so I can't be held accountable for what I say for the next couple of hours."

"You're partly lying," Armsmaster interjected with a frown.

"First off, the only way in which that wasn't true was that I'll probably be fine in a matter of minutes, not hours. Second off, you have a _lie detector_ in your helmet, but not an algorithm to determine gender?"

"Let's focus on the relevant situation, please."

"Is this the part where I make a joke about how sex is always relevant to teenagers?"

"No," Armsmaster said, "it is not."

 **Omake 4: Plagiarism**

"Are you two flirting?" Skitter asked me and Tattletale incredulously.

 _Don't do it,_ I thought. _That would be plagiarism. Wait, I doubt he exists in this universe anyways._

"I don't flirt, I awkward. Since I'm not being awkward, I'm obviously not flirting."

"Hey!" Grue shouted. "You stole that line!"

 _I guess he does exist here,_ I realized.

I stared at him. "How do you even know that?"

"That's – that's not important."

"His sister set a bunch of school computers to narrate random fanfiction at full volume to piss of the teachers," Tattletale explained. "That was one of the only ones that wasn't an erotica."

"Ah," I nodded sagely. "That explains much."

"We need to have a talk about privacy," Grue said to Tattletale.

I noticed Armsmaster disabling his recorders and deleting the past hour from its memory. "It's harder to hate them when they act like this," he muttered.

 **The "I don't flirt, I awkward. Since I'm not being awkward, I'm obviously not flirting." line is a reference to the great author dogbertcarroll.**

 _ **Incompetent-but-not-really!Cauldron**_

 **Context: Armsmaster "fighting" the Undersiders by wrestling one of the hellhounds. This is an omake of an earlier draft of chapter four (or maybe five, it's not important).**

"Who do you think is responsible?" Tattletale asked Armsmaster while he – _wait, is he wrestling with a giant hellhound? I – I don't think this is how fighting works, even on normal worlds, let alone Earth Bet. This is way too peaceful to be an actual fight. And what does she mean, "Who is responsible?" Isn't the answer just bureaucracy?_

"Hopefully, it's just Bakuda," Armsmaster replied.

 _Wait. He's obviously been ordered to fight the Undersiders before Lung is put away, most likely to provide Lung ample opportunity to escape. Apparently, I'm the only one surprised by this. Is the PRT just so corrupt here that this happens all the time? And does Armsmaster mean – is he_ hoping _that Bakuda is blackmailing the PRT? That – that seems out of character for her. And him, actually._

"I doubt it," I inserted, stepping very cautiously away from my dumpster.

"A well-reasoned argument," Tattletale agreed.

"Translation for the rest of us?" Grue demanded.

"Bakuda is batshit," I said, raising an eyebrow. "She wouldn't blackmail the PRT into forcing Armsmaster to fight, she would just dump him in a black hole or turn him to glass or something even worse."

For a moment, I was terrified that that might not be true on this Earth, and I'd just held a giant flashing sign over my head saying, "Sophomoric Tourist."

"Yeah," Tattletale answered. It took me a minute to realize that she was responding to my verbalized question and not my internal fear.

"Wouldn't it be the other way around?" Regent asked.

"What do you mean?" I questioned.

"Attacking Armsmaster is perfectly normal around here. You'd have to be crazy to blackmail the PRT – everyone knows they work for a shadow organization!"

"I object to that," Armsmaster frowned. "On many levels."

"That theory has so many holes in it," Skitter agreed. "Sure, there was a surprisingly large pile of evidence for a conspiracy theory, but too much of the evidence is self-contradictory!"

"I think he was referring to the part about attacking him," I pointed out.

"Yeah," he confirmed.

Then what Regent had said sunk in.

"… you have got to be shitting me," I muttered. _Did Cauldron – did they already get revealed here? When I find out what complete_ asshole _sent me in to a variation of freaking_ Worm _without_ any _sort of idea -_

"Crap, the conspiracy is _real_?" Tattletale blurted.

"I think I would know if I worked for a conspiracy," Armsmaster said with a grin.

 _\- as to what's happening – well I'll probably hide behind my dumpster again but that's besides the point,_ I finished my previous thought.

"Not you, _him_ ," she said, gesturing at me.

Skitter tensed. "…that explains so much."

"Wait, what?" I protested! "I don't work for the conspiracy! I just find it hard to believe that they're actually stupid enough to reveal themselves yet! They're actually _competent!_ Well, relatively speaking anyways, but technically they did prevent the apocalypse even if by accident aaand I'm just going to stop talking now."

 _Now I'm_ really _glad I'm not an SI_ , I thought, embarrassed. _I'd make the worst SI ever, accidentally revealing that I know way too much within a day. Hell, if I was an SI, I'd probably be dead in that time span too!_

"So you don't work for them, you just know about them?" Skitter asked, dubious.

"Is that really so hard to believe?" I asked.

There was a chorus of "yes."

"Fine, the truth," I sighed, inwardly smirking. "I'm an alien."

"Bullshit!" came from many people at once.

"He's – he's telling the truth," Tattletale confirmed, staring at me.

 _Mwahahahaha! This is awesome_ , I gloated inwardly.

"This doesn't prove anything," Grue disagreed. "Maybe he's just gone insane?"

"Sanity? Bah!" I snarled mock-angrily. "I never had such a useless thing to begin with!"

Later, as I was interrogated by Cauldron…

 _Not awesome!_ I screamed internally. _This is not awesome!_

 _ **The Giggle**_

"You know," Skitter said from behind me, "I'm not really sure you're cut out to be a minion."

"Hey! I'll have you know that I have the running away screaming part down perfectly!"

To my everlasting surprise, Skitter _giggled_.

… _okaaay, then. That was totally expected._

 **A/N: This is ~two days early to make up for the close to two week delay on chapter five. Interlude One: I Remember A Time should be up on Monday, August 13th. I _should_ be able to get it done early and get to work on Chapter Six before then, so hopefully there should be no more delays.**


	7. Rewrite notice tldr: no more crack

Okay, this entire thing devolved into crack. This wasn't what I intended to write.

I've begun work on a rewrite, the prologue should be out soon.

I apologize for taking so long to realize this.


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